No storybook ending for a storied stadium.

"The House that Ruth Built" was a home
we baseball fans claimed as our own.
A place unequalled through the years
where memories were born.

Yes, Gehrig and DiMaggio
still haunt its hallways (don't you know?)
as do The Mick and Maris too,
Don Larsen and the like.

You still hear Yogi Berra's growl
or see old Casey Stengel's scowl.
In this old house the past lived on.
It's where we all grew up.

It was the Yankees' pride and joy
where dreams came true for Autumn's Boys.
"The House that Ruth Built" gave the Bronx
a place in history.

But now this mansion's quarantined.
No games. No fans. No pinstriped team.
I wonder if this building knows
its address is Death Row?

Its horsehide balls will be replaced
by wrecking balls. A damned disgrace.
This condemnation that I dread
gives mem'ries cause to mourn.

I grieve the passing of a friend.
A chum I've known since I was ten.
A playmate every Saturday
on Dizzy Dean TV.